


Singer & Winchester's Home for Wayward Hunters 2: Blood and Kin

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Singer & Winchester's Home for Wayward Hunters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chuck Shurley is Not God, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Gen, Henry Winchester Lives, Jessica Moore Lives, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mini Big Bang Challenge, Supernatural Gen Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: The Home's routine is shattered by a literal blast from the past--but Henry Winchester's training by Cuthbert Sinclair turns out to offer more protection than anyone expected. And when the family heads out to investigate the mysterious artifact Henry carries, they find that the Men of Letters' secrets may hold the key to putting the final nail in the coffin of Azazel's plan for Sam. (Co-written with jennytork.)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Singer & Winchester's Home for Wayward Hunters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201745
Kudos: 1





	1. Blast from the Past

**Author's Note:**

> While this story doesn't include any spoilers past Season 9, there's a plot point that was pure speculation when we wrote the story over the summer but has become something of a bone of contention in fandom during Season 10. Please don't think we're taking a side here--besides, it's AU anyway.

Henry ran into the lab in a panic. He didn’t know what was going on, how Abaddon had managed to possess Josie and get past the wards, anything. All he knew was that he had to get out of the building with whatever it was Larry had told him to keep safe. And there was only one spell he knew that would for sure get him out in one piece.

The ingredients were hard to find, but fear made him preternaturally fast. He drew the sigil and chanted the spell. The portal formed with such force that it sucked him in and spit him out almost before he could think of his destination.

He found himself on his hands and knees, panting hard. One thought in his mind. _Johnny. Have to get to Johnny._

He looked up to find himself surrounded. The women he could discount, and the blond who was wearing a vest as a shirt, but too many of the men looked familiar. He couldn’t be sure which one was his son.

So the second he had his breath, he asked, “Which of you is John Winchester?”

“Who wants to know?” the tall man with the short, thick curls of ebony hair growled.

Then he became aware of the guns and swallowed hard. “Johnny? Don’t you know me? It’s your Pops.”

“Our father’s father left him high and dry,” the tall man with the bandy legs standing near the one who had spoken snarled.

Okay, so that must be his... grandson? “I-I didn’t mean to. We were attacked; I had no choice but to jump to this year. Please, which of you is John? Time is of the essence.”

“Time travel,” the older woman nodded. “That explains plenty.”

“It does.” The man who’d spoken first lowered his gun, but kept it close at hand. “Talk to me, Pops.”

Henry swallowed hard. It hurt to see his baby boy not only grown up, but so old, so suspicious. “Are these others also Men of Letters?”

“Never heard of ’em.”

“But—you must have—n-never mind. John, I need your help. I have to get back to the club on Gaines Street.”

“Gaines Street,” the guy in the trucker hat said. “John, you lived where when your daddy vanished?”

“Normal, Illinois,” John said. “Mean somethin’?”

“Might.” He sat at a box and typed. “... Gaines Street fire, same night your daddy vanished. No survivors.”

“No,” Henry breathed. “No, they... they can’t all be dead—”

“Facts are facts, hombre,” the man with the sleeveless shirt said. “Can’t change the past. What’s done is done.”

“No, that’s not what I—” But Henry was interrupted by the door behind him rattling again. His heart leapt into his throat, and he just barely managed to remember the Enochian locking spell and choked it out just as light began building again behind the door.

The light flared and a scream rattled along everybody’s nervous system. Then the door exploded open to show a red-haired woman in a bloody dress—before the light seemed to pull her backward and implode on itself.

Then there was just the dark silent closet looking back at them, a sigil on the back wall shattering into three parts before slowly going dark.

The shocked silence was finally broken by the lankiest of the tall men. “What the heck was that?”

“Abaddon,” Henry breathed.

“... the Hell Knight?” the guy in the trucker cap yelped.

Henry nodded. “She attacked us the night of my final initiation into the Men of Letters. I... I d-didn’t think she’d f-f-follow me....” Suddenly his stomach flipped upside down.

“Good thing you locked the door,” a young man, slightly taller than John, said as he lowered his gun.

Henry nodded, but his hand flew to his mouth before he could try to speak. A young blonde woman grabbed him and bodily hauled him twenty feet to a trash can, where he quickly lost what remained of his dinner.

“It’s okay, Mr. Winchester,” said the blonde. “It’s okay.”

He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “I’m sorry. It’s just... the adventures I prefer are usually of a literary nature.”

“Dude,” bandy legs laughed softly and looked at the tallest man. “Looks like you came by it honestly.”

The tallest man grinned and ducked his head.

“Boys,” John said. “That’ll do.”

Henry gulped. “These are your sons, John?”

“The two flanking me are,” he said.

The tallest one nodded. “I’m Sam. This is Dean.”

“I’m Jess,” the blonde said, helping him up.

“Ellen Harvelle,” said the older woman. “My boy Ash,” she added, nodding toward the blond.

“Bobby Singer,” the guy in the trucker cap said.

The petite redhead standing next to Singer waved. “Charlie Bradbury.”

“Garth Fitzgerald IV,” the lanky man said.

“Chuck Shurley,” said the last man, who had curly brown hair and a scruffy beard.

Jess turned to him. “You’re still up? Bed. NOW.”

Chuck looked like a kicked puppy. “How could I sleep with all this going on?”

“Chuck, you’ve been up for almost 48 hours with nightmares. Come on.”

“THAT was what I was dreaming about!” Chuck shot back, pointing at the closet with a shaking hand. “That—blood and fire and screams and....”

“But you didn’t see him closing the door,” Bobby pointed out.

“No. I... I didn’t. I think... some of what I saw wasn’t here. There were men in embroidered robes; I didn’t recognize any of them.”

“The ambush,” Henry breathed. “He saw the ambush.”

Chuck started rubbing at his forehead like he was getting a headache.

Charlie sighed, handed her gun to Garth, and took Chuck by the arm. “C’mon. Now that Mr. Winchester’s locked the door, maybe the nightmares will go away and you can sleep.”

“I hope so,” he mumbled as he was taken out of the room.

Henry ran a hand over his face as he tried to pull himself together. “I still can’t believe Abaddon could have killed everyone. Mr. Singer, does that”—he gestured toward the box—“list the names of the deceased?”

“Yes.” He turned back and read off names.

Henry’s heart sank until Bobby got to—“Albert Magnus?!”

“Friend of yours, Pops?” John asked.

Bobby snorted. “Alias, idjit. Albertus Magnus—Albert the Great, man who taught Thomas Aquinas.”

Henry’s breath caught. “You... what rank are you?”

Bobby frowned. “Do what, now?”

“In the Men of Letters. What rank are you?”

Bobby’s frown deepened, but Ellen spoke up. “Like John said, none of us ever heard of this Men of Letters thing.”

“But he is one—he speaks like—”

“We’re hunters, Pops,” John said.

“No... Nononono....” And the stress of it all caught up and Henry slid to the floor.

“We need to get him to a bed,” Jess said even as her fingers expertly found his pulse point.

“He okay?” Sam asked, frowning.

“He’s kind of shocky. Just needs rest right now, though.”

John looked at the closet. “... looks like the Home’s got a new occupant, boys.”

“Home?” Henry squeaked as Sam and Dean scooped him up between them. “What... what home?”

“This is the Home for Wayward Hunters, Pops. We just call it the Home. Rest, we’ll talk later.”

“I’m... not....” Then Henry’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he knew no more.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a homey bedroom. Everything in it looked brand new. There was even a lingering odor of fresh paint, he noticed as he shakily pushed himself to sit up.

“Mr. Winchester? Oh, you’re awake.” Jess smiled as she walked into the room. “Brought you some water.”

“Thank you,” he croaked.

“Mind if I give you a quick once-over?”

He shook his head.

She was a medic, he found out, and a very competent and professional one.

“So do I check out?” he asked her as she finished.

“I’d take it easy for a day or two—you’ve had a nasty shock.”

He sighed. “More than one, honestly.” He sipped at his water.

“I can’t imagine. But we’re glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be alive. But I can’t understand... we Winchesters, we’re legacies. I should have brought John up in the ways of the Letters—I-I was going to start right after my initiation. What happened? Why are they _hunters_? And Bobby, too... he looks rough, but he sounds like a scholar.”

“That’s their story to tell, sir. I came in very late to it.”

“And how did you come into it?”

“A demon possessed my best friend and tried to murder me.”

“I’m so sorry. And I can relate. Josie, the woman Abaddon was possessing... she was my best friend.”

She nodded. “Sam and his father saved my life.”

“How do you know them?”

“I met Sam at Stanford. He’s my boyfriend, and if he doesn’t hurry up and propose, I’m going to do it for him.”

Henry burst out laughing at that. Then something she said registered. “Wait, did Sam study at Stanford?”

“Yes, sir. Just one year from graduating.”

He blinked. “He didn’t finish?”

“My attack put an end to that. Now he’s a double major at a college here in Sioux Falls and doing excellently.”

He blinked some more and took a drink of water. “Sioux Falls. I assume it’s to do with... all this?”

“This house is the best warded property for miles. We’re safe here.”

“But not at Stanford.” He sighed. “What was it John called this place?”

“The Home.”

“I mean the longer name.”

“Oh.” She chuckled. “Singer & Winchester’s Home for Wayward Hunters.”

“Singer and Winchester... so John and Bobby are in it together?”

“Yes, sir. Best friends.”

“So what makes you and John’s boys _wayward_ hunters?”

“Sam left. Why is his story to tell.”

“But... you’re here.”

“We’re here.”

He searched her face. “There’s something you’re not telling me. And I don’t mean about how my son and grandsons came into hunting. Something recent, something... that has nothing to do with you.”

She frowned.

“Jess. What’s wrong with John?”

She licked her lips. “That’s his story to tell.”

“Is it serious?”

“It was. But it’s much better.”

He drew a deep breath, accepting the answer for what it was. “Thank you.”

She nodded and left the room.

Before Henry could do more than quiet his spinning thoughts, John had walked in. “Jess said you were awake.”

“Hi,” Henry breathed.

John nodded. “Hey, Pops.”

“You got tall.”

John chuckled. “I’m fifty-six now.”

Henry shook his head a little. “Can’t believe I missed so much of your life. I’m sorry.”

“You’re here now.”

“I am. And so are you.” Henry gestured toward the chair that sat at a desk across the room. “Sit down, son. Help me get caught up here.”

John sat down. “Feels weird you callin’ me son when I’m twenty years older than you.”

“Tell me about it,” Henry replied with a wry chuckle. “I’ll save my professional questions to later, Sport, because there’s one thing I’m worried about. Jess said Sam transferred from Stanford to a school here, a year before he was to graduate. Most families I know, there’s only one reason for that.”

“Which is....”

“A parent who’s seriously ill.”

“Benign brain tumour.”

Henry took a deep, ragged breath. “Benign. That’s... that’s....”

“Better than cancer.”

“A lot better. Have you had surgery?”

“I have. My short-term memory is back, but there are a few holes that will never be filled. And according to the boys, my personality has shifted back to the father Dean remembers from the drill sergeant Sam does.”

Henry frowned. “Drill sergeant? Johnny, what happened?”

“It’s been a very long story.”

“I’m sure it has. But I want to hear it all.” Then Henry’s stomach growled loudly, and he chuckled. “Well, maybe eat first.”

“Hold on.” He went to the door. “Hey, Sammy? Think you could run us up a couple of plates before you three head to class?”

“Yes, sir!” Sam called back.

“Thanks, son!” As he turned back, he heard the “still not used to him saying thanks...” and sighed.

Henry studied John’s face. “ _Were_ you in the military?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Army?”

“Marines.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “Good thing you never knew your Uncle Eddie, then. He was Army all the way.”

“Lord, we’d have had some shouters...”

Henry laughed. “Yeah, you would have.”

“There was a war, in the ’60s and ’70s. I enlisted.”

“China? Russia?”

“Vietnam.”

“Viet—what?? What happened to the peacekeepers?”

“We were the peacekeepers. And we lost.”

Henry stared at John, not noticing that Sam was coming in behind him. “How in the WORLD could America lose a war?!”

“Very easily,” John said. “When the public isn’t behind the soldiers.”

Before Henry could ask why the public wouldn’t support the troops, Sam cleared his throat. “Ellen said to tell you guys there’s plenty more where this came from,” he said, handing John two plates of something that smelled like roast beef.

“Thanks, Sammy.” John handed one plate to Henry and sat down with the other.

“You’re welcome. We’ll be back after class.” Sam gave Henry a smile and nod before leaving the room.

“Oooh, this is good,” John said between bites.

Henry tasted his helping and nodded his agreement. “So Ellen is... not your wife.”

“No. She’s one of my best friends. Though... by all rights, she shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“A hunt went wrong. Her husband was fatally wounded. I had to mercy shoot.”

Henry sighed. “John, you should never have had to be in the field to begin with. I’m gathering I don’t make it back from this time, and for that, I’m more sorry than I can say.”

“I was ‘in the field’ to find the son of a bitch who gutted my wife and set her on fire before my eyes.”

Henry gasped.

“ _That_ is why I became a hunter.”

Henry looked at his plate, then at the wall. “I... never thought to ask why someone would become a hunter. The ones I knew were all violent brutes, shoot first and don’t bother to ask questions later.” His eyes slipped shut. “Even after seeing what Abaddon did to the elders... I can’t imagine seeing that happen to Millie. I can’t fathom how badly that must have hurt.”

“We’re learning we seem to be the exceptions in hunting,” John said. “We’re learning how to research, to know what we’re facing and to find out if there’s another way to dispatch them.”

Henry looked at John again. “That’s what the Men of Letters do—did. We’re preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that man does not understand. We’d pass on information to a small group of hunters, the very elite. They’d do the rest.”

“Who were they?”

“Various groups around the world. The Judah Initiative was one. The Elkins family. The Campbells.”

“Mary’s family name was Campbell.”

Henry blinked. “That’s... you don’t happen to remember her father’s name, do you?”

“Absolutely. Samuel. We named Sam after him and Dean after his wife Deanna.”

Henry’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Pops?”

“You married _Samuel Campbell’s daughter_?!”

“Yes....”

Henry laughed. He had to. He didn’t even care that there was a hysterical edge to it.

“You knew him, then?”

“Knew him? I had the misfortune to work with him a couple of times. How did you and Mary even meet? Last I knew, Samuel’s family lived in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Mom remarried and we moved to Lawrence when I was twelve.”

“Of all the crazy coincidences... a Winchester marrying a Campbell.”

“I loved her.”

“I’m sure you did, and I never meant to imply otherwise. It’s just... we’re legacies, the backbones of the Men of Letters, and the Campbells are one of the oldest hunting families in the States.”

“Well, this proud hunting family turned me and my boys out on our ears.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Samuel and I never did get along. But even if they didn’t know you were my son... you weren’t blood kin. The Campbells are for the Campbells.”

“My boys were.”

Henry sighed. “Suppose it might depend on what it was that killed Mary.”

“A demon with yellow eyes named Azazel.”

“Azazel? What—Azazel’s one of the rulers of Hell. Why would he attack Mary?”

“To get to Sam. To bleed in his mouth.”

“What?!”

“He was trying to make my innocent boy the Boy King of Hell.”

“Sam? _That_ Sam?” Henry shook his head, unable to get his head around the idea.

John nodded. “Won’t happen now.”

Henry drew a deep breath. “You stopped him, then?”

“Sammy did.”

Henry sighed in relief and smiled. “Good going, Sam.”

“He made a fatal mistake. He went after Sam’s girl.”

“Yes, Jess mentioned something about that.”

“So what else do you want to know?”

“I... I don’t know, son. I’m pretty overwhelmed right now.”

He nodded. “Well, then.”

“Has Bobby tried to trace which of the Men of Letters might have survived?”

“He should have it soon.”

Henry nodded slowly. “Good. Thank him for me.”

John nodded and headed out.

Henry set his plate on the nightstand and got up with a heavy sigh, his head spinning. So much of what he’d just heard he could barely conceive of happening to his little boy. Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way, not for Winchesters.

He moved to the window and watched Jess and his grandsons get into a large black car and drive away. He watched as the car passed down the driveway through—a junkyard?! His son lived... in ... in a JUNKYARD??

“Hi, Mr. Winchester,” Charlie said behind him. “Have you finished with your plate? I’ll take it down for you.” The small redhead moved to take the dishes.

Henry pulled himself together. “Yes. Thank you, Charlie. So... what is it you do around here?”

She shrugged. “Little bit of everything.”

“You seem awfully young to be a hunter.”

“Well, I’m more of a... researcher.”

Henry’s eyes lit up. “You enjoy research?”

“It’s fun.”

“I bet you’d make a great Woman of Letters.”

She smiled. “I think I would.”

“Listen, once I find out what this thing is I’m supposed to keep safe, why don’t I get you started on the initiation path? John and his boys, too, and Bobby if he wants.”

“Why do we have to be initiated? You’re the only one left.”

Henry blinked several times, opened his mouth, and closed it again. “I... well... huh. There is that.”

“Besides, initiations are just a load of bull, anyway.”

“What?! They’re loaded with symbolism and tradition and....”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, _please_! They’re stuffy and boring! And what is the point of sitting there jumping through hoops to _try_ to make it into something that’s so high up here they look down on the rest of us? I’d never be accepted into your elite.”

That threw him. “Why not?”

“I like to do things my own way.”

“I... don’t think being independent is a bad thing.”

“Your former organization would.”

“What makes you so sure? You barely know anything about us.”

“I know—from your own words—that your group hated hunters. Had dismissed us as mouth-breathing Neanderthals. And that you felt you were the ‘elite’, better than everyone else.”

He sighed. He couldn’t deny that.

“There was no room there for someone like me. Or like your son and grandsons.”

“But—John and his boys, they’re _legacies_. We would have made room.”

“No, Mr. Winchester.” Her voice was sad. “Your ivory tower had no room for the marble messiness of reality.”

That should have made him mad, but it just confused him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you ever read Tolkien?”

“I read _The Hobbit_ once as a boy. His new books—well, new to me—sound interesting, but I haven’t had time to read them.”

“They tell of a great battle between good and evil — and one single kingdom who thinks they’re better than everyone else and that nothing will touch them.”

“So what happens?”

“They’re nearly destroyed before the Fellowship realizes that the king is under a spell.”

He hissed.

“When they break the spell, they turn out to be one of the best assets to the Fellowship. But the king is ultimately killed.”

Henry suddenly flashed back to running into that initiation room, Larry bleeding out from his eyes, Ted and David trying to exorcise Abaddon, and Josie—dear Lord, poor Josie—

“The evil is ultimately defeated by the two things they never expected—a woman and a once-upon-a Hobbit who was enslaved by greed.”

“Enslaved... you mean that... Gollum thing?”

“Yeah. You see—Frodo gave in. He was going to keep the ring and God help anyone who got in his way. He felt he was better than anyone else, that the Ring made him powerful. Then Gollum ripped the ring right off his finger and the force of that threw him and the Ring both into the volcano.”

Suddenly feeling lightheaded, Henry staggered back to the bed.

She helped him sit.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. There’s just... so much....”

“No, not really.”

“I’m not even sure what year it is.”

“It’s 2005.”

“Almost... almost fifty years of my boy’s life, and I wasn’t there....”

She rubbed his back.

“He’s older than I am. Can you imagine what it’s like? He was in third grade, and now... now his _sons_ are in _college_.”

“They’re good men, Mr. Winchester.”

“I can tell, but... the things they’ve been through... I mean, _Azazel_.”

“Is dead.”

“And I’m so proud of Sam, I can’t say—but I should have been there. I should have prepared John.”

“Stop with the should haves.

“Josie, it’s—” He caught himself and ran a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“She looked like me, huh? I saw a flash of red hair in the portal.”

He nodded. “Not a striking resemblance, but... yeah, the hair. She was my best friend.” He sighed. “Heck, it was more than that. She loved me.”

“And you loved her back.”

He took a ragged breath and let it out again. “Yeah. I suppose there’s no harm in admitting it now. If... if we hadn’t... Dad insisted it was a bad idea to marry another member of the Letters. And Millie... I _did_ love her, truly. She was a good woman, strong, kind, wonderful mother. She’s probably the reason John survived my disappearing. But Josie....” His voice trailed off as a tear spilled down his cheek.

“Now see? Your elite group denied you your true love and it ended in tragedy.”

Henry flinched hard.

“If you rebuild this Men of Letters—can the elitist crap, okay?”

It was all he could do to nod.

“Charlie,” Bobby rumbled from the doorway. “Back it down.”

“Yes, Mr. Singer.” She moved past him with the dishes.

Bobby came in and shook his head. “Sorry about that. Charlie is something of a force of nature.”

Henry managed a weak smile. “I can tell.”

“She’s very passionate.” Bobby studied Henry. “Looks like you’re a bit overwhelmed.” He sat on the bed.

“Just a tad,” Henry confessed with as much of a laugh as he could muster.

“Suppose you tell ol’ Bobby about that night.”

Henry sighed and shifted the pillows so he could lean back against the headboard. “Something told me to go in and check on John before I left. Never thought... I was supposed to be home by midnight.”

“He told me he remembered that well.”

Henry drew a deep breath. “I suppose a little background would be useful. You see, just a few weeks earlier, Josie and I had gone out to investigate a Class 3 infernal event. It was our last requirement before the final initiation.”

“Go on.”

“Milton, Illinois. There was a convent there, St. Bonaventure’s. Abaddon and some of her minions were using it as... as a demon factory, I suppose, stealing souls while leaving the bodies alive. The bodies caused havoc without the rational powers of the soul to stop them, and the souls were somehow being fast-tracked for Hell. Josie and I... well, we exorcised some of the demons, but I was knocked out, and when I came to, I _thought_ Josie had exorcised Abaddon.”

“Instead... she was possessed.”

Henry nodded sadly. “I don’t even know how Abaddon got in the door that night. That club was warded from foundation to rafters.”

“I doubt it, or she wouldn’t have.”

“Or maybe we just didn’t have the right wards. The Knights of Hell were supposed to have been slaughtered by the archangels.”

Bobby nodded. “And clearly your intel was faulty.”

“That wasn’t all we didn’t know. The elders tried to exorcise Josie, and... it didn’t work.”

“And yet, you escaped.”

“Larry shoved something into my hand, told me not to let her get it, and... I panicked. I didn’t know another way out. So I jumped.”

“Do you still have it?”

Henry nodded and pulled the box out of his pocket.

“May I see?”

Henry handed it to him. “You seem like a wise man. Maybe you can figure it out.”

Bobby turned it over a few times. “It’s a puzzle box.”

Henry frowned. “Can you open it?”

A few more times. “Yes, I can.” Bobby went to the door. “John? Come here!”

A moment later, John walked in. “What’s up?”

“This is what your dad brought through time. It’s a puzzle box and I’m about to open it.”

John nodded. “You’ve always been better at that kind of thing than me.”

Bobby turned it over and made it click—and the side fell off. A key fell into his hand

“Huh,” Henry and John chorused.

“So if we have a key,” John added, “where the hell is the lock?”

“That’s why I came to find you,” Bobby told Henry. “I think one man survived that night.”

Henry straightened. “That’s the first good news I’ve had all day. Who is it?”

“Larry Ganem.”

John frowned. “Isn’t that who....”

“Gave me the key,” Henry replied and nodded. “If anyone knows what it is, he will.”

“So let’s find him.”

“Rufus is workin’ on it,” Bobby said.

John grinned. “That man could track a polar bear in an Arctic snowstorm.”

Bobby chuckled.

As if on cue, Bobby’s pants rang. He pulled a tiny box out of his pocket, pushed a button, and held it to his ear. “Hello? Hey, Rufus. Whatcha got?” His eyes went wide and he turned to the Winchesters. “He found him.”

Henry stood. “Where?”

“Lebanon, Kansas?” Bobby repeated after a moment. “You got an address?” He went to the desk and wrote on a notepad. “Got it. Thanks, Rufus—oh, and if you see Walker, tell him to stick to vampires, will you? He’s got some burr under his saddle about Sam.... Nah, Charlie gave him a chest full o’ rock salt to remember us by.” He laughed and hung up. “Rufus says he’s going to open a can of whoop-ass on Walker for his early Hanukkah present.”

John laughed. “Hope he feeds ’im to a wendigo.”

“And remembers to tape it.”

Henry decided not to ask. “Lebanon, Kansas, you said?”

“Yeah.” John turned to him. “That mean somethin’?”

Henry shook his head. “No, other than it being the center of the country and a long way from Normal. Can’t imagine why Larry would go to ground there.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “With the Letters’ love of symbolism? The exact center of the country?”

Henry blinked. “You’re right. Maybe whatever the key fits is there.”

“Soon as the kids get back from class, we’ll let them know we’re heading out and give them the chance to come,” John said.

Bobby nodded. “Meantime, you wanna take your dad to Walmart, get him some clothes and a shaving kit?”

“Think he’ll have to have a demotion.” John looked at him. “Feel like bein’ my little brother out in public?”

Henry swallowed hard. “I suppose that’s better than a full role reversal.”

John nodded.

Henry took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right. Let’s go, s-John.”


	2. On the Road Again

When the three kids got home that afternoon, they climbed out of the Impala and looked around. Garth was loading something into the back of John’s truck that looked like duffles. 

“What’s going on, Garth?” Dean called.

“Hey, Dean,” Garth called back and waved. “Your dad wants to talk to y’all.”

“He’s leaving,” Sam whispered.

“Said somethin’ about goin’ on a road trip with his dad, wants to know if y’all wanna go with ’em.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other, then went to talk to their dad. Jess followed.

“Are you certain I need one of these?” Henry was asking, looking skeptically at the flip phone in his hand.

“Yes,” John said. “Ah, here they are. Boys.”

Henry looked up and smiled at them, tucking his phone into the front pocket of his new jeans. “Hi.”

“Dad. What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“We found someone who survived the fire in Normal,” John replied. “We’re headed down to ask him about this key Pops brought with him. Wanted to see if you boys want to come with us.”

“Can it wait a week?” Sam asked. “Dean’s last final is Monday and mine is Wednesday and Jess’s is the same day as mine. We can go then.”

John shrugged. “What do you think, Pops? Not like we’ve told Larry we’re coming.”

Henry tilted his head. “I’d love to get going... but yeah, it can wait a few days. I need to learn more about this time anyway.”

“All right. Hey, Garth, we’re not leaving yet. Would you bring the bags back in?”

Garth nodded and set about doing it.

Sam’s jaw slammed open and he walked away, eyes huge.

“What?” Jess called after him.

“He... He agreed... to wait.”

Puzzled, Jess nodded. “That was kind of him.”

“No, you don’t understand. It was always ‘suck it up, Sam’. ‘This is important, Sam’. The impression was always ‘you don’t matter, Sam’.”

John was stunned, but Jess shrugged. “So, he’s changed. That’s a good thing, right?”

“I’m having trouble believing it,” Sam admitted, forgetting that John was right there. “He was so nasty for so long....”

Jess sighed. “Maybe that should have been the first clue that there was something physically wrong with his brain.”

“What, nastiness?”

“Exactly. I’ve seen it in Alzheimer’s patients—the first symptom is a personality shift. Someone who’s normally very sweet all of a sudden starts swearing at everybody, and someone who’s normally cantankerous suddenly becomes nice.”

Sam nodded. “He was a good dad... ’til I was about twelve. Then he... he became more of a drill sergeant. Wouldn’t leave us enough money, always barked at us... moved us more....”

John ran a hand over his face. “And I didn’t even realize what was happening. Sam, I’m so sorry.”

Sam frowned. “I always knew you loved us till then. But then it seemed like you hated me, especially.”

“I can’t explain it. ’Course, that was about the time the demons really started to mouth off about you, but... hell, son, I was _scared_.”

“Felt like you hated me,” Sam whispered, his voice tight.

“And now I can see why, if... if I was... treating you like that. I never—I wanted you _safe_.”

Sam shook his head. “You were treating me like that. And it hurt Dean.”

“I never meant to do that, either.” John rubbed at his forehead. “Dean, you were... you were so reliable, I guess I just... forgot you were a boy, not a Marine.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” was Dean’s automatic reply.

“No. No, it’s not okay. You should never have had to say that to me. I put too damn much on you. I was too damn hard on you. Especially... that time in New York....”

Sam frowned. “... New York?”

“Dad,” Dean warned.

John took a deep breath. “No, Dean. It’s time we told him the truth.” He turned to Sam. “You remember that rugaru hunt, when you were twelve, where Dean disappeared for a couple of months and I sent you here for a while?”

He nodded.

“Dean... wasn’t... missing. I, uh, hadn’t left enough money, and he got caught trying to steal enough food for the two of you to get by on. And I....” John swallowed hard. “I let him take the rap. Thirty days. They sent him to a boys’ home.”

Sam gaped at him, then walked away, fists clenching.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” John confessed, voice shaking. “I don’t know how the time got away from me, how it turned into two months. I just....” His voice trailed off.

“Dad,” Dean said. “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay.”

“No. No, don’t you make excuses for me, son. I was wrong. That was a terrible thing for me to do to you, and you would have been within your rights to take Sonny’s offer to stay.”

“I wanted to.”

John blinked. “So why didn’t you?”

“Sammy needed me.”

Sam froze. “Dean, you... you gave up _normal_ for _me_?”

Dean shrugged. “No big deal.”

“No big—you could have been OUT!”

“Sammy, with Dad like he was—you weren’t safe.”

John winced.

“You... I...” Sam fumbled for words for a moment before quietly saying, “Thank you. I just... thank you.”

Dean nodded, squeezing his shoulder.

“Think I know why you two were so at odds, John,” Henry said. “Like father, like son.”

John chuckled softly. “Dean said we were alike.”

“He’s more right than he knows.”

“Look at it this way,” Dean grinned. “We’re both somewhat out now. We’re balancing it.”

Sam smiled at him and opened his mouth, then all heads jerked around as there was a great clatter—and Garth tumbled into the bed of the truck as a duffle of weapons clattered to the ground.

“... unlike some people,” Dean deadpanned, and Sam cracked up.

* * *

Wednesday night saw everyone’s finals over and done and three twenty-somethings conked out in their beds early while John and Henry and Bobby packed. Henry had, by this point, become much more comfortable around the denizens of the Home, even declaring that Ash needed to give him some lessons on how to use these new computers.

And in the morning, the kids were rested enough to go with John and Henry.

“All right, so!” Dean said as they headed out to their vehicles. “Where we headed?”

“Lebanon, Kansas,” John said.

“We followin’ you?”

John nodded.

“All right. Call if anything comes up.” With that, Dean got in the Impala’s driver’s seat, and Sam held the back door open for Jess before climbing into shotgun.

“Call?” Henry asked as they drove. “Oh, the pocket phones.”

“Right,” John confirmed. “Pretty well replaced CB radios by ten years ago or so.”

“... huh.”

“Pretty handy when you’re in the middle of nowhere and have to call for backup. Especially when you’re five miles from your car.”

Henry smiled ruefully. “Could have come in handy a few times....”

“Tell me about it.” John snorted suddenly. “’Course, there was one time I landed wrong when I fell and dialed the boys’ phone with my hip.”

Henry laughed. “Bet that was teasing fodder!”

“’Specially since I interrupted Dean’s date—and all I’d done was trip goin’ down the stairs.”

Henry laughed again. As he sobered, he asked, “You think he’ll have answers?”

“Larry? I sure as hell hope so. You’ve come too far just to hit a dead end now... and believe me, I know what that feels like.”

Henry patted his arm.

“Maybe he can even tell us what you did to Abaddon with that locking spell.”

“I just canceled the portal.”

“Yeah, but she got partway through before it closed. Just want to be sure she’s not still out there somewhere looking for you. I hate surprises.”

“I must be a huge one.”

John smiled. “Turning out to be one of the better ones, Pops.”

After several stops for gas and lunch, they rolled into Lebanon late that afternoon.

An elderly woman met them at the door, wide-eyed and shaking. “Who are you?” she asked, eyes focused on John.

“John Winchester, ma’am.”

“My son,” Henry added, stepping up beside him. “Hi, Nell.”

“... Henry?”

Henry nodded. “Been a long time.”

“Come in....”

John went in first, but Henry hung back to introduce the kids. “My grandsons, Dean and Sam, and Sam’s girlfriend, Jess.”

“Henry?” an old reedy voice called.

Henry followed Jess inside to find a greatly aged Larry sitting stiffly in a wingback chair, eyes wide and unseeing. “Hi, Larry,” he called, making his way past the kids and over to Larry’s chair.

“You’re here.

“I’m here,” Henry agreed.

“Do you have it?”

“I do.”

“Good. Go to the co-ordinates... open the doors... throw it in and seal it away forever! Abaddon _cannot_ be allowed to have access!”

“Wait, wait, Larry—Abaddon tried to follow me. I used the Enochian locking spell, but she got partway through before the portal dragged her back as it shut down. Did she show up again in ’58?”

“No....” Larry frowned. “... you used the locking spell?”

“Yes.”

“Henry, that spell .... how do you know it?”

Henry rubbed the back of his neck. “Cuthbert taught it to me.”

“It’s a miracle it worked, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cuthbert used... unorthodox means.”

Henry frowned. “How unorthodox?”

“We forbade much of it.”

“I still don’t understand. Was he consorting with witches or something?”

“No... just did things his own way.”

“Not by your strict regimented rules,” Sam pointed out.

Larry sighed. “It was more than that. He was convinced there should be no limits on the kinds of knowledge we should collect or the means we used to collect them—no limits whatsoever.”

Henry could tell this line of questioning wasn’t getting anywhere and decided to return to the reason for the visit. “What is this, Larry? What did you give me?”

“The key to every spell, book, scroll we’ve collected for thousands of years. But Henry, I’m telling you, throw the key inside and walk away forever. Abaddon must not find it!”

“Abaddon isn’t a threat anymore,” John said.

Larry shook his head. “We don’t know that, Johnny. The fact that she left me alone doesn’t prove that she’s gone.”

“We saw her neutralized,” Dean said.

“You don’t know what you saw! And neither do I!”

“We saw the portal close and pull her back inside it as though she was in a stiff wind. If she wasn’t spit out back here in ’58,” Henry said, “and she wasn’t spit out in 2005... then she must still be there. With both ends sealed shut.”

Larry started shaking. “I can’t fault your logic, but... I-I-I can’t be certain. She blinded me, but since you had the key, she went after you. She could have come back and decided I wasn’t worth her while.”

Jess touched Henry’s arm and said, “Thank you, Mr. Ganem. We will keep that in mind.”

As they left, Larry’s wife gave them an envelope and said, “Do as he says,” before she closed the door between them.

Henry turned to Jess. “Why did you do that?”

She shook her head. “Paranoia that ingrained isn’t rational. He can’t believe she’s stopped. He’s lived with it for too long.”

With a sigh, Henry trudged back to the truck. He opened the envelope to reveal a large sheet of paper with numbers scrawled in faded pen all over—as if written by a blind man. “... co-ordinates?”

John nodded and broke out a map. “Sam, you’re best at triangulation...”

Shocked at the praise, Sam took the paper and studied the map. He looked up and his eyes widened. “Just west of town—we’re less than twenty miles away.”

The demands of their stomachs made them stop and eat on the way out of town, but soon the small caravan was on the way to the co-ordinates—with the Impala in the lead this time.

“You’re sure this is it?” Jess asked as they got out in front of what looked like just a doorway set in a hill.

“This is the location of the co-ordinates,” Sam said.

“Well, at least there’s a door,” Dean noted. “No telling what’s behind it, but I guess we’ll find out if Henry’s key fits.”

Henry and John walked up. Henry had already opened the puzzle box.

“You wanna do the honors, Pops?” John asked.

“Johnny... I want you to.”

John swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re all here, Dad,” Dean said. “We’ve got your back.”

John accepted the key from Henry, squared his shoulders, and led the family down the stairs. Then, after taking a deep breath and letting it out again, he put the key in the lock—and it turned. The heavy door opened and they clicked on their flashlights.

Surprisingly, the inside air smelled fresh—not stale and musty, as one would expect for a space that had been shut up for so long. There was a trace of old cigarette smell, but mostly, it smelled like leather and old books.

Dean wandered to the side and opened a panel. He threw a switch—and lights came on. They were standing on a balcony overlooking a Depression-era command center, complete with lighted map table.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam breathed.

They all went down the stairs together, but Henry made a beeline for the wide doorway past the command center, which led to a beautiful library. Sam followed as if on a string.

“Look at it, Sam,” Henry breathed as if he’d just found a room full of gold and jewels. “Look at this... this treasure trove!”

“It’s... beautiful!”

John couldn’t help chuckling.

So did Dean. “... they’ll be in there for hours.”

“Can you blame them?” Jess asked. “It is pretty amazing.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “See that? That is a SWEET telescope!”

John chuckled again as Dean trailed in after Sam and Henry. “Something in here for everybody.”

“There is, isn’t there?” Dean wandered over. “Grandpop?”

Henry looked startled at the name but recovered quickly. “Yes, Dean?”

“Is this where the Men of Letters worked?”

“It must be, at least some of the time. I thought our headquarters were in Normal, but apparently this was one of the secrets that had been withheld until my initiation.”

“Which I still say was stupid,” Sam ground out.

“Yes, well, all things considered, I have to agree with you.” With that, Henry headed over to the card catalogue.

“Yeah?” Sam asked.

“If they’d let us in here, maybe Josie would have had some way to keep herself from being possessed, and maybe I wouldn’t have had to learn spells from someone I thought was a friend even after he was expelled. I don’t understand what Larry had against Cuthbert, but what he did say makes me question my own judgment.” Henry found the catalogue card he was looking for, looked over the information, and put the card back sideways before going to a shelf.

“And if wishes were horses,” Dean said softly.

Henry paused with his hand on a book. “Yes. Indeed.” Then he pulled himself together and pulled the book off the shelf.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

Henry brought the book over to one of the tables in the center of the room. “If I’m right, this book should have information about that locking spell I used.”

Sam walked over, intrigued despite himself.

Henry flipped through the old pages quickly, glancing at the Latin descriptions of the Enochian spells as he passed. Finally, he paused and ran his finger under a line of text. “Here it is.”

“That’s what you said.”

Henry ran his finger further down the page, translating as he read. “Any portal across space or time closed by this spell will remain sealed from both ends. Any human soul trapped thereby will go directly to its reward, but any other creature shall remain trapped forevermore. And no—” He broke off, paling.

“And no what?” John asked.

“No other portal will traverse the same path of years, lest the evil be released. Thus spake the angel Castiel.” Henry looked up at John. “I-I’m trapped.”

John stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “... but so is Abaddon.”

“Johnny, I meant to come home.”

“I know you did. Now.”

“I’m so sorry.”

John’s fingers squeezed harder. “Forgiven.”

Henry hugged John with all his might and tried not to cry. John rocked him.

About the time Henry regained his composure, Dean cleared his throat. “We’re not... leaving the key and walking away forever, are we? ’Cause it looks like there’s some pretty awesome stuff in here.”

“No,” Henry said firmly. “No, we’re not.”

“We should probably make copies of all these,” Sam said, running a hand gingerly over the open book. “Y’know, just in case.”

“Agreed,” Henry nodded.

“Sounds like a project for Charlie and Ash,” Jess said, smiling. “They’ve almost finished scanning Bobby’s library into that database they’re building.”

“A digital database of all this,” Sam breathed.

“Can you imagine?”

“Yeah... I can!”

“Have one backup here,” Dean suggested, “one at the Home, maybe a couple more somewhere else.”

John nodded. “Come on, Dean—let’s look around.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean nodded and followed John out of the room.

Jess smiled and kissed Sam. “I’m gonna see if I can find a sickbay.”

“Okay,” Sam said and kissed her back. “Think I’ll stay here, see what all I can find.”

“Are you staying as well, Mr. Winchester?” Jess asked.

“Yes, I have a feeling I’ve got some reading to do to find out what else Cuthbert never told me about the spells he taught me.”

Jess nodded and headed out.

Sam asked, “So what spells?”

“All the ones from this book, at least,” Henry replied, sitting down. “When I was first starting out, I was having trouble mastering some of the spells the elders were teaching us—basic tracking spells and such, nothing major—so Cuthbert offered to give me some extra tutoring. Then, once I’d gotten those down, he gave me a small book of Enochian spells he said he’d copied from one of the books in the main library. But the descriptions were translated into English... and much shorter than what I see here.”

“So you think it’s grammar making it longer... different language...”

“No, I don’t. Yes, certainly, the grammar and the length of the words themselves make a difference, but what he gave me had none of what I just read.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was no reference to Castiel in Cuthbert’s version. My assumptions about Abaddon’s fate were based on logical deductions; I didn’t know for sure. I had no idea Josie’s spirit wouldn’t be trapped as well. And I... I definitely didn’t know there was no going back.”

“So Miss Sands’s spirit—”

“According to this, if the possession didn’t kill her outright, the spell would have sent her to Heaven.”

“So either way—she’s safe.”

“Yes. Safe... but still dead.”

“From what you said, Grandpop... she was probably dead since that convent.”

“I hate to say it, but... I hope so. That way, I wasn’t the one to kill her.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Henry ran a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath before shaking his head. “I can’t understand why Cuthbert would have left those warnings out.”

“They didn’t suit him?” Sam guessed.

“But why? That’s like... like putting nitro in a furniture polish bottle and forgetting to take off the ‘Shake well before using’ label.”

Sam sighed. “Do you think there’d be files somewhere? Maybe I can find out what he was expelled for.”

“Let’s look.”

Together they searched until they came across a storeroom full of file boxes on shelves.

Sam opened one and frowned. “Records?”

Henry nodded. “Likely.” He turned, skimming labels on the boxes, until he spotted one in particular. “Here. ‘Infamati et Obliterati.’”

“Let’s see that.”

Henry pulled out the box, and they carried it back to the command center to start looking through.

“... gonna tie a bell to that—where have you _been_?” Dean’s indignant voice reached them when they walked in.

“Looking for files,” Sam answered, gesturing to the box Henry was setting on the map table.

“Files on what?”

“People who’ve been expelled from the Letters,” Henry said, opening the box. “I need to find out why Cuthbert Sinclair withheld information from me.”

“There’s not very many,” John said, lifting out the folders.

“One of the reasons the initiation process was so rigorous was to weed out any bad apples.”

“Cuthbert?” Dean said, looking at the names.

Jess snickered. “Sorry,” she said when they looked at her. “I just can’t help thinking of _McLintock!_ , with John Wayne—‘Cuthbert H. Humphries, governor of our territory, is a cull!’”

Sam laughed, and John shook his head, grinning.

“Sounds like one I’ll have to watch,” Henry chuckled. Then he paused. “Here he is.”

“What a strange name,” Dean muttered.

“Well, he came from money—Sinclair Oil. I suppose it was a family name.”

“Wow.”

Henry pulled out the file and flipped it open. “Named Master of Spells immediately upon his initiation... designed the warding on this place... active member— _huh_.”

“What?”

“In 1942, the OSS requested that he infiltrate the SS.”

John swore.

“And look, after the war, proposal after proposal rejected. The elders felt his work had become reckless—and immoral, some of it. Here’s a proposal for examining the effects of various interrogation spells by testing on live werewolves.”

Jess was white as a sheet.

“A menagerie-based comprehensive genetic study of monster species, with potential for cross-breeding—” Henry snapped the folder shut. “Dear Lord. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Sam already was.

“Why wouldn’t they tell me? Why wouldn’t they _warn_ me? All anyone said was that he’d been dismissed, no reason given, so I... God forgive me, I kept in touch.” Henry swayed a little. “He was... he was going to use _thrall spells_ to ensure compliance. What if he’d used one on ME?!”

“Is there a way to detect one?” John asked

“I... I don’t know. I suppose we should find out.”

“We should, especially if he was still doing things like that.”

“How’s your Latin?” Dean asked Jess.

“I know medical Latin,” she shrugged.

“Good enough for finding keywords. Sammy, you okay?”

Sam nodded, looking shaken.

“All right, we split up.” Dean headed to the card catalogue and hesitated for a moment before starting to flip through the drawer Henry had left open.

John went to another one.

Henry slowly made his way back to the book he’d left open. “I may as well start with this one.”

Jess and Sam went to look at another each.

Once John and Dean had located books for themselves, everyone found places to sit and began digging. Silence reigned for what felt like hours.

“I’ve got something,” Dean finally said. “Not how to detect one, but how to break one.”

“So you wanna try it and see if it breaks?” John asked.

“If we can’t find a detector spell or anything. If Grandpop is under a thrall spell, it should break; if he isn’t, well, he’ll still be in the clear.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. Let’s try it.”

They gathered the materials and Dean began the spell. But it wasn’t Henry who began to react as the Gaelic rolled off Dean’s tongue. It was Sam who paled and began breathing hard.

Dean finished the spell and all eyes flew to Sam. And for the second time that day, Sam lunged for a trash can. But this time, he threw up blood.

“SAM!” Jess wailed, racing toward him.

“What the hell?” Dean yelped at the same time, keeping pace with her. “Sammy, hey, I’m sorry, man, I didn’t know....”

“What... what....” Sam threw up again.

Henry ran to the book and read the description for himself. Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand. Dean’s right; this spell is intended only to purify a person from any form of thrall. So that would mean... there’s some sort of thrall in Sam’s _blood_?!”

“Azazel,” John growled.

Sam threw up more blood and looked very pale.

Henry frowned at John. “What does Azazel....”

“The night of the fire,” John said. “Azazel did something to Sam, poisoned Sam’s blood with his own.”

Sam leaned against the wall, pale and shaky. Jess wiped his face while Dean rubbed his back. He threw up twice more—each time with less blood.

“Apparently killing Azazel wasn’t enough to break the spell,” Henry mused. “The blood has to be out of Sam’s body entirely.”

Dean blinked. “He’s got to lose ALL his blood? Wait, that—”

“Transfusion,” Jess said, looking up at John. “Who has his blood type?”

“None of us,” John shook his head. “It’s very rare...”

“Because it’s been tainted,” Henry interrupted. “I’m O neg, what are you?” Both his son and well grandson said the same type. Then he turned to Jess. “We can donate to anyone, then, right?”

Jess began to smile. “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”

John and Dean lifted Sam between them and raced after Jess, arriving at the infirmary just before Sam had to throw up again. And again there was less blood in the vomit.

“We need to replace the blood he’s losing. At the rate he’s going, he’s lost about a quarter of his total volume.”

“I’ll go first,” the three healthy Winchesters all said at the same time.

“Dean first,” Jess said.

Dean nodded and stripped off his jacket and overshirt while John got Sam settled on one bed. Henry pushed the second bed closer so that the transfusion line wouldn’t need to be very long. Jess moved expertly, and soon red was flowing between the brothers.

Sam suddenly rolled his head. “Sick...”

John held the basin for him, and Dean pressed a hand to his own arm to keep the IV intact. Jess monitored both of them as Sam expelled the bad blood and Dean kept his own flowing in to replace it.

When Dean started acting like his hand was going numb, however, she stopped his IV and pulled the needle. “All right, John next.”

“I can keep going,” Dean said weakly.

“No, you can’t, Sport,” Henry replied, helping him off the bed and into a chair. “You wait here; I think there’s some soda in the fridge.”

“But he’s my responsi....” And Dean sighed; Henry was already out the door.

“You’re my responsibility,” John rumbled as he lay down. “And I’m not about to let you get to where _you_ need a transfusion. Stay put and drink your soda—that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” was Dean’s automatic reaction

“’Gain with the... orders, Dad?” Sam groaned.

“When it’s the only way to keep Dean from hurting himself,” John returned.

Dean just rolled his eyes—but drank the soda Henry brought.

Meanwhile, Jess got a fresh needle and got John attached to the transfusion line.

Henry watched, wincing as Sam threw up again.

“Want this _done_ ,” Sam whined, sounding all of three.

Jess rubbed his shoulder. “I know, honey. We all do.”

Sam closed his eyes and just lay there.

After a moment, John started to hum quietly... “Hey Jude.” Dean chimed in, his voice a soft harmony. Sam started sniffling.

Henry drifted over to Jess. “... I take it that means something to them.”

Jess nodded. “That was Mrs. Winchester’s favorite Beatles song.”

“Beatles?”

She chuckled. “After your time, I guess—they were a British rock group.”

“Rock?”

“Rock and roll. Y’know, like Chuck Berry, Bill Haley, Buddy Holly....”

“Aaah. We thought that music was just a flash in the pan.”

Dean snorted and broke off in favor of singing, “I don’t care what people say, / Rock and roll is here to stay!”

And John launched into an off-key rendition of “Old-Time Rock and Roll.”

Sam and Henry found themselves both laughing softly. Then Sam interrupted the recital by throwing up again. John sighed and rubbed his arm.

“You doing all right, Mr. Winchester?” Jess asked.

“So far,” John said.

“Sam, I’m going to add a saline drip. I’m worried about you getting dehydrated.”

Sam just nodded.

“Wish I felt safe giving you anti-nausea meds, but I’m not sure they’d work anyway.”

“No, not with...” And again. Less blood, again.

Henry sighed and rubbed Sam’s shoulder. “Jess, how much longer do you think this will take?”

“No way of knowing, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam whimpered.

“I know, baby. I know. Just hold on, you’re doin’ good.”

“We’ll get you through this, Sammy,” John rumbled quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Jess, is it about time for me to switch off with Dad again?”

“Not on your life,” Jess said firmly. “You’ve already lost enough blood for one day, and we still have one more donor.”

Dean rolled his eyes but subsided.

“It’ll be another couple of minutes,” she told Henry, “but you might want to get ready anyway.”

Henry took off his coat and outer shirt, leaving him in his sleeveless t-shirt. Jess, meanwhile, got the saline drip going.

Ten minutes later, she noticed John rapidly going white. And not saying a word about feeling bad. Like son, it seemed, like father.

“Okay, John,” she declared. “You’re done.”

“No, I can keep—”

Henry’s hand came down on his shoulder, cutting him off. “My turn, son.”

“... okay, Pops.” That was a clue to how bad he was feeling.

Jess unhooked John from the transfusion line, and Henry steered him to a chair near Dean. Dean started to stand up to help but promptly sat down again, light-headed. Henry submitted to the transfusion and watched Sam throw up twice more. The third time—there was no blood. And he stopped throwing up.

Jess sighed in relief. “Now we just need to get his blood pressure back up where it should be, and I think we’ll be done.”

“How do we do that?” Henry, John, and Dean asked in triple-voiced unison.

“We’ll need to continue the transfusion for a few more minutes.”

Henry nodded and closed his eyes.

Jess checked Sam’s blood pressure twice and nodded in satisfaction the second time. “I think he’s in the clear.” Carefully, she stopped the transfusion.

And Sam drifted to sleep.

“He’ll probably need another bag of saline,” she told the other men, “but he’ll be okay. And in the meantime, you three need to eat.”

“I thought I saw a kitchen down here,” Dean said. “No telling what’s in it, though...”

“I’ll find out. You guys rest here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Henry tried to reach for his shirt without getting up—overbalanced—and rolled off the table with a grunt.

“Smooth,” John and Dean deadpanned.

“Thanks,” Henry deadpanned in return, showing he was unhurt. He sat up slowly, pulling on his shirt. “After all that, that was....” He snorted. “Rather comical, perhaps.”

“I’d help you up,” Dean said, “but....” He held up one hand to show that it was shaking uncontrollably.

Henry shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine here.”

John nodded toward Sam. “He’s really out. That didn’t wake him at all.”

“Good,” Dean said. “He needs the sleep.”

“And so do we,” Henry sighed. “But Jess is right; we need to eat, too.”

Jess returned at that moment. Empty-handed.

“Jess?” Dean asked. “What’s wrong?”

“No food.”

John fumbled for his keys and tried to toss them to her, but they fell short.

She picked them up and walked out.

Dean blinked at him owlishly. “You’re letting someone else drive your truck?!”

“Emergency,” John said.

Dean considered that for a moment and conceded with a tilt of his head.

All three were dozing when Jess returned with food. High protein, easily eaten food. Henry moved to a chair to be more comfortable as he ate. Dean’s hand still shook terribly as he ate—but he ate every bite, and the shakes slowly diminished.

Dean had just finished when Sam stirred. “Som’n smells good,” he mumbled.

“Good, I have some for you too.”

He smiled and opened his eyes. “Thanks. Stomach’s still pretty sore, but I am hungry.”

“That’s such a good sign, you have no idea.”

His smile grew.

She watched the four eat but didn’t eat herself.

And Dean noticed. “Where’s yours, Jess?”

“In the bag. Making sure you guys are okay first.”

Dean sagged a little in relief.

Once she was satisfied that Sam’s was going to stay behind his belt, she withdrew her own food and began to eat. Then she insisted that everyone get a good night’s sleep before doing any more exploring. After she’d seen all four Winchesters to various bedrooms, she made another grocery run and stocked up on a few medical supplies while she was out.

When she returned, she found John sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” she said quietly, setting her bags on the table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. I... um... don’t really sleep much anymore.”

“Is... something wrong?”

“How much do you know about... things?”

She frowned. “What sorts of things? Biological, psychological....”

“Supernatural.”

She shrugged. “I know some. I’ve learned a lot from being at the Home.”

John sighed and started telling her everything about the attack on his family and how it had affected their lives over the last twenty-two years. She listened as she put the groceries away. Some things she already knew, but others she made mental note of as explaining a _lot_ about why Sam was the way he was. And when he was done, John was staring at his drink.

She sat down across from him. “I’m hardly a psychotherapist, but I’m sure telling someone all of that will help, at least a little.”

He chuckled. “Yeah... right.”

“By someone, I did mean me.”

“I know.”

She reached across to take his hand. “It’s over. Azazel’s dead, and Sam’s blood is clean. That won’t undo the past, but don’t you think you can stop worrying about the future now?”

“It’s habit,” he admitted.

“But habits can be broken, if you’re willing to work at it.”

He smiled at her. “Soul physician, too?”

She chuckled. “Just trying to stay on my future father-in-law’s good side,” she teased.

“All this and you still want to be part of this messed up family?”

“Hey, Brady introduced me to Sam just to cause him the pain of taking me away the same way you lost Mary. What better way to poke Hell in the eye than to stay with Sam?”

“Is that the only reason?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. I love him.”

“There you go, then.” He yawned.

“Think you can sleep now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should try. You did lose a lot of blood today.”

He nodded and stood up.

She stood, too. “In fact, I think I’ll turn in myself. Been a hell of a day.”

“But we saved Sammy,” John smiled.

“We did. And at least you remember it this time!”

He laughed. “I sure do!”

She chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Good night.”

“Night, Jess.”


	3. Out with the Old

“How are you feeling today, honey?” Jess asked Sam at breakfast the next morning.

“I feel different,” he said after some thought. “Less... Less angry.”

John’s and Dean’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“What? You asked....”

“Dude,” Dean said. “Do you know how long it’s been since you weren’t annoyed at life in general?”

“I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t—not after I was eight or so.”

“I thought it was because Dad moved us around so much, and then you found Dad’s journal.”

“So did I,” Sam said. “But it kept up at Stanford.”

Henry shifted in his seat a little. “John, you said yesterday that Sam has a very rare blood type. What did you mean?”

John nodded. “There were enzymes, proteins in his blood that the doctors couldn’t identify. They said he was Type U—unidentified.”

“I wonder if any of those proteins affected Sam’s hormones at all, increasing his irritability.”

Henry suddenly had everyone’s undivided attention. Dean frowned. “Hormones can do that?” His frown deepened when everyone else started laughing. “What?”

“You haven’t had any long-term relationships, have you, Dean?” Jess asked.

“He’s allergic to them,” Sam teased, but then noticed Dean’s reaction.

“There was.... one,” Dean said softly.

“Really? When was this?”

“In Ohio, when Sam was a freshman.”

“How long did it last?” Jess asked, trying to tread more lightly. Clearly, this was a painful subject for Dean.

“Three months.”

“Did you ever... notice a change in her demeanor once a month?”

Dean frowned, shaking his head.

“Lucky girl, then, not to have to deal with PMS.”

“PMS?” Dean’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, that! No, no, Cassie was in a car accident when she was a teenager and to save her life they had to... well, take all that out.”

Jess winced.

“So we didn’t have to deal with any of that. So that’s hormones, huh?”

Jess nodded. “A woman’s balance of hormones—estrogen, progestin, and so on—changes with her cycle. The same sort of thing can happen in men. And then there are things like steroids that increase testosterone levels and the like.”

“And that protein marker in his blood,” Henry put in, “might have done the same to Sam.”

“I guess we ought to find out whether it’s still there. After breakfast, I’ll see if the infirmary has a blood typing kit.”

John nodded. “Other than the mood, how are you doing, son?”

“Fine,” Sam said, shrugging. “Except I’m hungry!”

Dean laughed and piled more bacon on Sam’s plate. They ate with a heaping helping of good-natured teasing and ribbing.

Leaving the others to squabble over who had to do the dishes, Jess went to the infirmary and located a kit. It was old, but it still looked similar enough to the tests she’d used in practice that she decided to give it a try. She could always get a new one back in Sioux Falls if she needed to confirm the results.

Sam teased her with a jab of “vampire princess” as she pricked his finger.

She snorted and dripped the blood into the various antigen vials.

Sam watched the blood flow and asked, “When will we know?”

“Fairly quickly,” she replied, watching for the cells to agglutinate. “It doesn’t usually take long to react if it’s going to.”

“There it goes,” Sam pointed.

Jess frowned and shook the vial. “It’s not clumping. It’s just... separating.”

“It’s O, then,” John said. “That’s what O does.”

“That’s what I thought, but—” She looked at John and blinked a couple of times. “Does that mean his blood type’s _changed_?”

John’s jaw slammed open. “... what?”

“Do you remember more about the last time you had it typed?”

John turned to Dean. “Do you know where I put my journal?”

Dean nodded. “It’s still in the truck, I think. I’ll run get it.”

“Thanks,” he said, showing just how much his personality had changed since his brain surgery. He turned to Jess. “I don’t remember much, but I put the report in my journal.”

Dean evidently stifled a comment and left, returning a couple of minutes later with the journal.

John sat it on the table and opened it, flipping through some important looking envelopes before handing one up to Jess.

She opened it and read, frowning as she got into the results. “... unprecedented reaction to all antigens... back-typing showed both A and B not clumping but curdling?! ... bizarre sulfur-based proteins....”

“SULFUR?” Dean and Sam yelped together.

“They couldn’t figure out what was causing the reactions, but O-neg was the only type that didn’t react.” Jess looked again at the vials, which were all equally separated and not doing anything else. “But that looks like normal O-neg blood to me.”

“And his blood wouldn’t do that before,” John nodded toward the vials. “At all.”

“Guess I ought to take another sample and look at it under a microscope.”

“Told you,” Sam said, submitting with bad grace that John instantly recognized that his sons shared. “Vampire.”

“Oh, shush,” she shot back, pricking a different finger and squeezing a couple of drops onto a slide. Then she placed a cover over the sample, took it to the microscope that sat on a bench on one side of the infirmary, and examined it carefully at several different magnifications. “This all looks totally normal,” she finally declared.

“So that... sulfur stuff... isn’t there?” Sam gasped.

She shook her head. “Not that I can see. We might need a scanning electron microscope to be completely sure, but... it didn’t sound like those proteins were that small.”

“No, they weren’t,” John said.

She looked at Sam. “I think your blood’s completely clear.”

Sam beamed, grabbing her up and spinning her round, laughing.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

“You know I will,” she whispered back.

He smiled and kissed her again while John quietly withdrew.

Henry followed him. “John?” he prompted quietly once they were in the hall.

“He’s clean,” John whispered. “Completely.”

Henry rubbed John’s shoulder. “That’s a relief, isn’t it?”

“More than I can say, Pops.”

“I think we’ve got reason to celebrate. What do you say we run into town, pick up some ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” Dean asked as he joined them. “Who’s buyin’?”

“I am. I’ve still got some money left; I think I can afford that, even at today’s prices.”

“What are we celebrating? I’ll get Sammy—”

John put a hand on his arm. “Leave him be for now. I think he and Jess want to be alone.”

Dean actually blushed.

“We’ll bring him some back,” Henry smiled. “And Jess, too.”

“Better be sure it doesn’t melt,” Dean muttered and started toward the stairs.

* * *

When they returned to the Bunker, Sam and Jess were sitting at the table. Over the ice cream that they brought, Jess asked, “So what are we going to do with this amazing resource?”

“We’ll need help to learn about everything that’s here,” Henry noted. “Charlie and Bobby at least, and probably the rest of your friends at the Home as well. But we’ve also got to find some way to make sure the Cuthberts of the world can’t get their hands on it.”

“So why don’t we make a schedule, a bunking thing?” John asked.

“A bunking thing?!” both boys chorused, laughing.

“Bite me,” John snarled. “I’m tired.”

“You never watched _Firefly_ , either,” Dean chuckled.

“Is that one of those sci-fi shows you’re addicted to?” John asked.

Dean suddenly grimaced as he realized he’d given himself away. _Star Trek_ and _Star Wars_ were one thing, but Sam wasn’t supposed to know how much of a nerd he was!

“I loved _Firefly_ ,” Jess said.

Henry decided not even to ask. “A rota might be a good idea, John, at least in the short term. I suppose we can work it out once we get back to Sioux Falls.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Once Dad sleeps. What, were you up all night again?”

John sighed. “Dean....”

“Dad,” he shot right back.

Henry frowned. “You’re having trouble sleeping, son? There are things we can do for that—medications, potions, spells....”

“Pops,” John sighed. “... it’s chronic.”

Henry paused. “Okay, that... limits the options somewhat. Most of the spells I know shouldn’t be used on the same person more than once. Unless you think one good deep sleep would be enough to break the cycle?”

“I haven’t really had one since ’Nam—since the early ’70s.”

Henry hissed.

“Yeah.” John sighed.

“Well, that isn’t literally true,” Sam chimed in. “There have been times when he’s been in the hospital and slept hard, especially when he’s on pain meds. We had to keep him in a medical coma not too long ago, before we discovered the brain tumor, just to keep him from doing anything stupid. And he has been known to drink himself to sleep.”

“Sammy,” John hissed.

“I’m just saying, Dad.”

John rolled his eyes and turned back to his father, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. This was stupid—his father was gone for almost fifty years and he was ashamed of disappointing him?

But Henry just looked... sad? “You never really came home from the war, did you, Johnny?”

“Not really... no.”

“A lot of my friends were the same way.”

He sighed, clearly uncomfortable. “And then... when Mary....”

“That just made it worse.”

“He did the best he could,” Dean defended.

Jess took Sam’s hand.

“I’m sure he did,” Henry replied. “That doesn’t erase the memories.”

John sighed. “Okay, enough. We need to get rolling—”

“Where?” Dean and Jess chorused.

“Back to the Home—”

“Why?”

“To talk to—” Then he sighed. “After I try to sleep?”

“Sure, Dad,” Dean said, smiling. “After you sleep.”

“Fine. Pops, give me two hours and if I can’t sleep then?”

“I’ll have something up my sleeve,” Henry promised.

He nodded and headed into the dorm wing.

“I won’t pull out the big guns yet,” Henry confided to the kids. “Plain old chamomile tea and the placebo effect may get us a lot further.”

Dean grinned. “Thanks.”

“We should probably make it look good, though... so everybody pick a book to take notes on.”

Sam groaned. “Pick something easy next time!”

Henry chuckled and rubbed his shoulder. “We shouldn’t have another incident like this last one, now that your blood’s clean.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “It’s just there are so _many_ to choose from!”

“I hear you. But it’s not like John needs to know _what_ we’re researching, right?”

Dean blinked. “Oh, we’re researching sleep spells!”

“If he asks,” Henry agreed with a wink.

“But really it could be anything?” Dean’s eyes lit.

“Dude!” Sam snapped. “You are NOT gonna research love spells!”

Henry laughed, and Jess just shook her head.

“Why the hell would I research love spells?” Dean shot back. “It’s not like I have any trouble getting... female attention,” he self-censored, remembering at the last second that his grandfather was present.

“So what are you thinking of looking up?” Sam challenged.

“I’m not gonna tell _you_!”

“Aphrodisiacs,” Sam nodded.

Jess started to laugh.

“Dude, will you get your head out of the gutter?”

“I just know you.”

Dean huffed and stormed out of the library to a room he’d found the day before. He pulled down what looked like a diary and started to read.

Sam finally found him a little over an hour later. “Dad’s up. Grandpop’s making a big production out of fixing the chamomile tea. You wanna come see?”

“Yeah.” Dean brought the book with him.

Sam nodded at it as they left the room. “What is that?”

“Some kind of diary. Real interestin’.”

“Whose is it?”

“I don’t know yet. But it’s really fascinating.”

“What’s it about?”

“It seems to be a case log, from what I can see.”

“Huh. Cool. What kind of cases?”

They entered the kitchen. “Later, Sammy.”

“Now, we have to let this steep exactly four minutes,” Henry was telling Jess, who was setting an egg timer.

“Four minutes it is,” she said.

Henry poured the boiling water over the improvised tea bag with a flourish. “Annnd... start.”

She set it off.

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said.

John nodded once. “Hey, son.”

“Grandpop found something?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping so.”

Henry rubbed John’s shoulder. “All we can do is try.”

John sighed.

“This ought to work, though, and it should be a lot safer than most of the other options available to us.”

“Okay.”

Four minutes later, the timer went off. Henry carefully fished out the tea bag, blew across the top of the tea cup to cool the brew slightly, and handed the cup to John. “Here you are, son.”

John took a sip and made a face.

“If it tastes that bad,” Dean quipped, “it’s bound to be healthy.”

John made another face and drank it down steadily.

“Feeling any better?” Henry asked once he’d finished.

“About the....” He yawned.

“All right, back to bed.”

John stood and wove his way back to the bedrooms.

“Sure that was just chamomile?” Dean asked once John was out of earshot.

“With some lavender mixed in,” Jess nodded.

“And a hefty dose of making him think it’s a sleep spell,” Henry grinned. “What do you have there?”

“Some kind of diary, case records or something.” Dean handed the book to Henry.

Henry whistled. “Okay, let’s see a few things here.”

Sam waited expectantly while Dean picked up the teacup and sniffed it to make sure he didn’t smell anything other than flowers. Satisfied that he didn’t, he set it down again.

“Dorothy Baum?” Henry suddenly said.

Dean frowned. “Wait, as in...”

Sam gasped. “L. Frank Baum?”

“Dorothy Gale?” Jess asked at almost the same time.

Henry nodded. “That’s what it looks like. Says here that she was a hunter, and... one night, when she was here, she disappeared.”

“Huh. She’s real.” Dean found himself frowning, thinking hard and chewing on his thumbnail.

“Sounds like it might be worth investigating in more detail—but _not_ this trip. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one week.”

“Agreed,” Sam nodded slowly. “Hate to admit it, but I’m pretty wiped myself.”

“Well, hell, Sammy, you got good reason,” said Dean.

He smiled and kissed Jess, then headed to the bedrooms himself.

Jess sighed. “Think I need to convince him to eat steaks or burgers for a while, at least until he recovers. Even with the transfusions, he’s probably anemic.”

“I’m all for anything that’ll get him to eat burgers,” Dean cracked.

“You know, he always used to complain about the ones at Stanford. Some days they were too greasy; some days there was too much pepper....”

“He used to eat them all the time,” Dean shook his head. “Wondered what happened at Stanford to change him into a salad eater....”

“Well, to be fair, college cafeteria food’s not usually anything to write home about, and a lot of days, he had classes scheduled so close together he didn’t have time to eat more than a salad for lunch. But when it came to burgers, he’d always start to say they weren’t as good as—something, but he’d never finish the thought.”

Dean’s eyes suddenly went soft and he smiled.

“What?” Henry asked.

“He missed my burgers,” Dean half-whispered.

Jess smiled. “That explains it.”

Dean suddenly stood and opened the refrigerator. “Before we leave, if you got the food for it, I’ll make some—you did! You got everything I need!” He smiled. “Guess you knew he needed protein!”

Henry nodded. “And you’ll clean up before we leave. We’ll help.”

“Sure will,” Jess agreed.

Satisfied, Dean went to bed himself.

* * *

Some hours later—he wasn’t sure how long—John found himself being teased awake by the scent of burgers and fries, both in Dean’s signature style, tickling his nose.

Hunger drove him from bed and into the bathroom. Routine had him packing his bedroom after a quick shower, as if he were checking out of a motel room.

“Hey, whoa,” Dean said, walking in. “What’s the rush, Dad? Aren’t you staying for burgers?”

“If you made them, yeah,” John said, dumping his duffle to the floor.

“I did. Jess said Sammy needs iron and protein, so....”

“Aha. But you don’t have a fryer, how are—oh, you’re bakin’ the fries?”

“Yeah, Grandpop gave me a couple pointers for doin’ ’em in the oven.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Everything’s done. Just come eat.”

“Want me to get your brother?”

“Actually, he’s been up about half an hour, helping with the last batch of fries.”

“Pops?”

“Threatening to eat all the bacon if you don’t hurry.”

John laughed and followed him in.

Sam, Jess, and Henry were laughing as Henry piled Sam’s plate with a huge burger and mound of fries.

“Can’t eat that much, Gramps!” Sam laughed.

“Just try!” Henry insisted, though his eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Why, when I was your age....”

“You ARE my age!” Sam interrupted.

Dean threw back his head and laughed heartily.

So did Jess and John found himself joining in as he sat down.

Dean put together a similarly full plate and set it in front of John.

John wasn’t hungry till he took a bite. Then he was ravenous!

“As my grandmother used to say,” said Henry, “it does my heart good to see you eat like that.”

After they ate, they all pitched in to leave the magical bunker the way they found it.

“Can’t wait to tell Charlie and Bobby about this place,” Dean said as they finally made their way up the stairs to leave. “Ash, too.”

“They’re never going to want to leave, you know,” Sam said.

“Bobby’ll have to, but I could see Charlie and Ash settin’ up shop here—if Ellen’ll let Ash go, that is.”

“You’re elected to talk to Ellen, Dad,” Dean said as he got into the car.

“Do I have to?” John shot back, getting into the truck.

“Don’t worry,” Henry said, putting a hand on his shoulder as he climbed up into the truck. “I’ll go with you.”

John chuckled. “Thanks, Pops.”

Sam turned to Dean. “You’ve got the key, right?”

“Better,” Dean said, handing him and Jess each a copy of it. “I found copies in the kitchen.”

“Awesome.”

“I know I am,” Dean grinned, “and don’t you forget it.”

Once they were all settled in the Impala, Dean put her in gear and drove away from the Bunker, heading back to the comforting familiarity of Sioux Falls and the Home for Wayward Hunters.

Leaving one home for another.


End file.
